


my almost lover

by lehulei



Series: Stuff of Legends [4]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-20 06:08:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13140669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lehulei/pseuds/lehulei
Summary: It was hard for them. Hard for them to pick up where they left off. She hadn’t realized how difficult it would be. In all the years she spent getting back to him, she hadn’t thought much past finallybeingwith him.





	1. my almost lover

It was hard for them. Hard for them to pick up where they left off. She hadn’t realized how difficult it would be. In all the years she spent getting back to him, she hadn’t thought much past finally _being_ with him.

She saw now that she was mistaken.

The Doctor she’d known was not the Doctor she met on that abandoned street. She’d glimpsed darkness in him, facing down the Daleks.

The Doctor who was left with her on that godforsaken beach…him, she didn’t know at all. All she’d been able to feel in that moment was that _her_ Doctor was leaving her. Doing what he’d promised would never happen to _her._ She’d gone with impulse, listened to her impetuous heart and kissed the Doctor in the blue suit when he’d finally said the words she’d been hoping _he_ would say. She flushed with shame remembering why she’d kissed him. Silly human, thinking this pettiness would make an ancient Time Lord jealous. He’d just left. No goodbye.

When the sounds of the TARDIS had faded, she’d realized he’d grabbed her hand and had instinctively let go. This hand was only for _the_ Doctor. She’d realized how that had come off only after it was too late. This space between her and the half-human Doctor grew cold as they made their way to the pick-up point for one of Pete’s zeppelins.

She’d tried to make some sort of conversation, but after meeting a solid wall of monosyllabic answers, she’d given up. Jackie remained quiet, letting them sort it out themselves. When they’d gotten back to the mansion, Pete had set him up in his own room after he’d quietly asked for a place to rest. She’d left him alone, noting the tiredness in his face that she’d never seen in her Doctor. She’d gone to sleep that night feeling awful and wanting to make amends.

The next morning he was gone.

 

***

 

The days following the mending of the rifts of reality were vague to Rose. She’d been so one-track minded for so long that _not_ thinking about getting back to the Doctor and dedicating every moment to it was so foreign that she felt adrift.

She moved through Torchwood labs in a haze of unreality. She oversaw the disassembly of the Cannon, a feeling of grief gripping her as she watched her last link to her Doctor being taken away. Still, she knew it was for the best. They hadn’t saved all of creation for nothing.

She took to exploring the city and its surrounding areas. Whereas before she’d thought of this alternate reality as nothing more than a launch point to get back to her home universe, now she knew she would have to make her home here.

The familiar sights mixed in with the out-of-place and incongruous stirred a bit of curiosity in her, but also weighed her. She didn’t realize how much it wore on her until she stood across from the London Eye and noticed it was a docking station for zeppelins. The tears came without volition and she bent over in pain, hidden within a doorway.

 

***

 

A month passed and a letter arrived for Rose at the mansion. The utilitarian brown of the envelope had seen its share of coffee and cramped spaces. It was postmarked from Czechoslovakia. The handwriting on the front looked vaguely familiar.

Sitting on the edge of her bed she opened it, anxiety in the shaking of her fingers. She paused before opening the battered letter, sternly ordering herself to _calm down_.

Opening it slowly and taking in the words, she felt a silent sigh sweep through her.

_Rose,_

_~~I’m writing because~~ ~~I hope this letter finds you~~ ~~I don’t even know if you’ll~~ How many ways can I start this letter? I don’t even know if I’ll post this once I’m done writing but I had to write down _ something _. Even if I’m using this ancient device called a PEN of all things. (If you haven’t noticed by now, I’m going to blather on a bit, I’ve got the tenth incarnation of me_ AND _Donna Noble running through me—you can imagine how that might turn out.)_

_I left to try to find myself. I’m not_ your _Doctor. I’m not human. I’m not a Time Lord. I don’t know_ what _I am. It’s like that feeling I have each time I’ve—or I guess,_ he’s _—regenerated. Except a thousand fold._

_Now, don’t be reading this part and feeling all bad about yourself, Rose. I know you didn’t exactly mean to treat me the way you did on the beach. I mean, you_ did, _but you, like myself, were just getting used to the enormous change our lives had taken. So I understand. Don’t beat yourself up about it._

Rose sniffed at this. He _knew_ her.

_I don’t think I’ve found myself yet, but I do feel like I’ve discovered a little about who I am, this metacrisis self of mine. I know I still like to travel, that I’m curious about other people. (Notice that I’m in Czechoslovakia right now!_ Czechoslovakia _! We don’t have that back in our universe anymore!)_

_I get tired. I have to_ sleep _, Rose! Sleep for HOURS on end on a regular basis! Okay, maybe not “hours on end” but definitely at least five, which is more than I’ve ever had to do before._

_I’m still brilliant. Don’t roll your eyes at me. It’s just a fact, not stroking my ego. (Though I could use a bit of that.) The other day, I was able to fix my landlady’s broken air conditioner with no more than a toothpick and some toilet paper (don’t ask how because I’m still trying to figure it out—apparently I can_ know _these things but not really know them—which doesn’t make any sense, but oh, well)._

_~~I know I still~~ I miss you. It was hard when I was still my full Time Lord self, but now I don’t have the control garnered over hundreds of years, I’ve only got a few weeks worth developed. And it hurts. This human heart, even if it’s only one, seems to experience a lot of emotion. More than I’m used to. _

_Don’t feel like you have to reciprocate. I know that you’re still finding your own footing, too. I just thought that, maybe, if you want, you could be my friend. I need a friend._

_I don’t even know how to sign this._

 

The letter ended abruptly.

For long moments, she sat staring at the paper, fingers absently tracing the lines of his words, stopping at _friend_. Tears gathered in her eyes as she realized that she badly needed a friend, too. While he may not be the Doctor she thought she would end up with, he was still someone who knew her and who cared for her. The least she could do was try.

Making her way to her desk, she pulled out a sheet of paper and put pen to it.

 

_Dear Mr. Trying to Find Himself…_


	2. feel again

The letters don’t start with a salutation; no greeting line to put a label to the addressee. Just the story, the person communicating their innermost thoughts.

They don’t end in a signature either. Nothing to mire them in previous computations of the other. These are simply a means of finding themselves again.

And each other.

One is trying to find himself, gain a name, forget an old one through travel.

The other is trying to find her footing, to gain her measure, settle into a life she didn’t expect to have.

_...  
_

_The human body can only go 330 meters underwater without a suit or some other kind of vehicle to protect it. Recreationally, a human should only attempt 68 meters, if that even. With this in mind, I find it interesting that this world insists on submarines as the primary mode of oceanic transportation. Having not had a chance yet to study the encyclopedias of this universe, I wonder what incident prompts this shift from ships to subs._

_I’m in a submarine right now. Didn’t have any cash on me to speak of so I’m doing a bit of deck hand work. Though there aren’t really any decks so I don’t know what you call it. Sub-deck-hand work? Floor work? Inner submarine marinological work? (Yes, I know that isn’t a word.)_

_Not sure where I’ll get off. I’ve spent enough time in the European Alliance now I feel. Think I’ll explore the southern hemisphere for a bit._

_I have to say, not being able to get somewhere instantly makes for some long trips. But at least I’ve got a friend to write to, eh?_

_..._

 

_It was “Bring Your Sibling to Work” day today so Tony was in the Tower, creating all sorts of mischief. He’s only four so you can imagine what kind of trouble he got into. Dad generally forbids him from coming and Tony seems to be aware of it, so guess where he spent most of his time? Hanging on Dad’s leg. I particularly enjoyed the weekly budget meeting with Tony babbling at his feet._

_Since I don’t think you can travel with an entire encyclopedic set with you, I took the time to look up the history of submarines. Apparently, when_ Titanic _happened here, factories turned their time and energy to building reinforced bottoms of ships which then turned into just building underwater ships as a whole. They thought it was safer that way. It seems to have worked out._

_If you go to the Caribbean, if there is a Caribbean, can you send me a coconut?_

_..._

_Did you know that coconuts don’t exist here? They have something that looks like a coconut on the outside but tastes like a mango-pear on the inside. A MANGO-PEAR!!! I cannot stand PEARS. The fuzzy sour feeling would not wear off my tongue for days. At least they still have regular mangoes. I would be very very sad to discover that they didn’t. I’m sending you a mango-pear (called “mannut,” I swear, I could not stop laughing when they told me at first) even though this is a disgusting taste. I know you’ve always been fond of pears. (Which is a mark against you, just so you know.)_

_The other day I went to the market and learned how to play the nyabinghi drums (the tall wooden ones you stand behind and it makes that deep organic drumbeat). The natives here thought it was interesting that I wanted to know. After a test run though I seemed to be relegated to only one of the drums to beat on, and only when the drummer told me to. Not sure if this meant he was jealous of my overwhelming talent out-shining him or what…_

_I learned something else about me recently (besides the ever present disgust of pears). I like hanging upside down. No this is not a non-sequitur comment. I was in my bat-cave the other day, realizing that I’m Batman—no really, sorry, getting to the point—I was hanging upside down the other day trying to find one of my socks which seem to have disappeared under the bed and realized how this increased the blood flow to my brain. And how it was fun. (And yes, I could have gotten out of bed and gotten on my knees to look for the thing but I didn’t really realize how lazy human bodies can be in the morning—I guess that’s another thing I’ve found out about myself.)_

_I wonder what you work on, now that you’re not, well, looking for me, or_ him, _I suppose. I haven’t asked because, well, you haven’t mentioned. I want to wipe this whole paragraph out now, but I’ve sworn to not to filter myself to you. You’re really the only true friend I have here and you deserve all my ramblings in their unadulterated glory. Don’t think you have to answer this last paragraph._

_..._

_I like this “mannut.” I CANNOT say that or even WRITE that with a straight face. Mum’s looking at me strangely, since I was laughing and slightly choking on this fruit. She had a bite and asked what it was. I couldn’t say it’s proper term so she’s sharing a bit of the “Mongolian Nut” with Tony right now._

_I hate to break this to you, but you were never musically inclined. Remember that one time on Ranhillea IV? You were asked to participate in a christening, playing what passed for an earth triangle and they literally had to stop the whole thing to take it away from you and continue with the ceremony! Don’t bother denying it right now, you know it’s true._

_Dad’s got me listed as ET Special Ops, meaning I’m the alien techie, diplomat, intel, catchall, troubleshooter extraordinaire. Basically, I handle what the other departments can’t. I don’t have a “pet” project anymore. Dismantled the Dimension Cannon since I think you were asking that. I know better than to have that be something available for any old person to rip open the time continuum._

_I’m settling into_ something _here. Not sure what yet, but think I’m getting close._

_I’ll hear from you later, I suppose…Batman._

_..._

_I was going to write something funny and anecdotal but something happened today that makes the world just not that amusing or fun to be in right now. I wish you’d been here with me. It’s selfish of me to even write this, but I can’t help it._

_He died today, Rose. The tenth regenerated into the eleventh incarnation. I woke up in the middle of the night feeling like fire was racing through my arms and legs but when I pulled them up to where I could see them, swearing that I would find them glowing with Time energy, they were just ordinary human hands and feet._

_And I realized how alone I was. This isn’t to make you feel guilty, but just stating a fact._ He’s _gone. The me that was me. Where I came from. You could say that he lives on in this eleventh incarnation, and he does, but him, all the idiosyncrasies, the thinking pattern, the details, the importances and the mundaniety of_ his _life have been stripped away. For a moment, I could feel just a shadow of the new incarnation, feel his ability to set aside what had weighed his previous self down._

I’m _really the only thing left of him. Yet I am not him, and he was not me._

_I hadn’t really realized how that echo of him residing in me had been intrinsic to my own sense of self. I feel lost and not a little afraid of moving forward without him. I realize that I have to be brave now. Because it’s just me._

_..._

He can only hear the soft sounds of the beach settling down, nature coming to rest for the night. The susurration of tide rolling in does little to sooth his mind. She hadn’t written back. Was it because he’d called her by name? Was it because he’d made it known how much he needed her?

He digs his toes into the fine sand a bit further, the last vestiges of captured warmth sinking into the slightly numb appendages. This is one of the things he enjoys about the human body, the ability to feel his body go from cold to hot. He doesn’t enjoy the reverse too much.

The idyllic setting seems to underscore the tangible misery that’s seeped into him since the morning he woke, knowing that there was only him now to carry on this incarnation’s memories and dreams.

It isn’t only this knowledge that brings this weight down on him, it’s the fact that he’d felt some _relief_ at the time of the tenth’s “death.” Relief that he wasn’t just a copy anymore. He could be his own man.

He huffs out a mirthless chuckle. Guilt and moodiness are things that’ve always come easily to him. Some things never changed.

In this moment, he misses Rose. She is really the only person who’s lightened him from the inside out. Others, he was able to play it off for a little, make it seem like he’d moved on, but really the misery was always present. Rose is his lantern, his guide of the dark.

His head dips down, considering the grains of sand. He could do with some guidance now.

The sun sets with no further fanfare and he sits at the edge of the water, looking but not seeing. His time sense slips now and then, especially in times like this, and he doesn’t know if an hour or three have passed when he feels the change in the air around him.

She settles down in the space next to him, as if she’d already been there, having left for only a moment to check on something. He doesn’t move, afraid that this is a waking dream, an echo of fierce desire to have her here. A long moment passes, both of them staring straight ahead, no verbal acknowledgement between them.

Warm fingers find his in the sand, a light clasp that’s both familiar and new.

He finds himself smiling.


End file.
